


Pupils

by Brice_Gottlieb



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Friends to Lovers, Multi, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brice_Gottlieb/pseuds/Brice_Gottlieb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I like that thing you do with your tongue. What do you call it? Speaking? Yeah, I dig it."</p><p>― Bo Burnham, Egghead: Or, You Can't Survive on Ideas Alone</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Farewell to Home

Nevada wasn't Iowa.

 

The khaki landscapes could never compare. Arid flatland was now Franklin's home. He was already missing the hillocks and pastures of the farm, watching from the smudged passenger window as it all breezed by. His vision rattled with the vehicle's travels, his thoughts the same. It was for the best. Being away from the farm, away from all of it. The flight had been exhausting. Everything he owned was in a travel bag in the Fiat's backseat. There was nothing left for him back in Iowa, just some painful memories and the well wishes of his parents who wanted the whole mess to stay behind him. 

 

Franklin fiddled with the gauze of his bandages, the ends already frayed and mussed. Four fingers on a left hand wouldn't be so bad, he'd told himself. Away from Iowa, away from the accident, and away from the anxiety it had caused. That had been the plan: to move in with his estranged Aunt Sarah and start middle school. Franklin passed his Aunt a glance, studying her profile. She'd tried to strike up conversation the whole drive, but must have gotten discouraged by his occasional nods and shrugs. Franklin easily compared her to his Mother's favorite singer, Regina Spektor, and the similarity gave him comfort. She spoke fast and clearly like a doctor in a rush, the multitude of dark curls enshrouding her only serving to exacerbate her eccentricities. She'd been his Mother's sister, one of those far-flung actress types that 'never much cared for the hard working life', as his Mother had described. For the life of him, Franklin couldn't remember ever meeting the woman and had to take his family's word that she was kind and sociable. She seemed sane enough.

 

Noticing his gaze, she tried to smile. "Liking it yet?" 

 

Franklin replied with a shrug. 

 

"Blood Gulch isn't too far from here. You'll warm up to it eventually, don't worry."

 

 

Franklin looked away fast. Even the name wasn't encouraging. He put his temple to the rattling window again and tried to count the clouds.

 

 

+

 

 

The room was pink.

 

Sarah had apologized and insisted he take the time to choose a new color. Her old roommate had the place last, she claimed, trying to straighten up the bare desk and presenting the small closet like a bonus. School would start in two days. Plenty of time to get to know one another. 

 

His bag had been placed over the pastel bed spread and Aunt Sarah prompted unpacking before leaving to start on whatever supper entailed. 


	2. A Farewell to Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All thinking men are atheists.” 
> 
> ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

As it turned out, Aunt Sarah was not crazy.

 

She was many things, Franklin learned over the course of two days. A painter, a sculptor, an over-worked waitress, and an aspiring actress were among them. Singing and dancing took a close backseat to her hobbies and aspirations. She could be incredibly impatient and was very likely addicted to caffeine, hated doing the dishes and quickly apologized about the littlest of inconveniences.

 

They _had_ met, although it had been shortly after Franklin's birth and there was no way he'd ever have memory of the event. Picture books had been pulled out (another hobby, though Aunt Sarah insisted it had been put to rest) and Franklin was seeing the young faces of his Mother and Father for the first time. Two days were never spent as quickly. Franklin quickly learned the basics of the house, like Aunt Sarah's occasional bursts of song, which tap spat hot water in the shower, and what yoga was (though why it was done at 5 A.M was beyond his comprehension). 

 

His every instinct from home had to be squashed. There were no cows to tend and no chickens to feed. There were no backyard past times like fishing. His treehouse wasn't here. Instead, Aunt Sarah made the effort to tour him around the town of Blood Gulch, explaining the few attractions like a run down theater and the multitude of cheap chain restaurants. From the Fiat, he took in his new home and missed La Mars more than ever. 

 

In the quiet of night, Franklin found his room a blessing. His desk drawers had been filled with empty spiral bound notebooks and a multipack of ballpoint pens, simple boredom toys like bouncy balls, and an assortment of women's fashion magazines. The single composition notebook he'd found quickly became a diary. His clothes had been hung in the closet along with his work boots and a worn set of sneakers. Books had been placed in the corner of his desk, kept upright by the wall and a large chunk of rose quartz he'd brought from home. Hours of the night passed with a pen in hand. There was plenty to say that Franklin wasn't comfortable saying in front of Aunt Sarah, not until they knew each other better. 

 

He was determined to know her better.

 

 

+

 

 

Aunt Sarah raced through the hall, putting a sad excuse for a backpack in Franklin's hand as she passed him. The apology for her late alarm clock was hurried and quickly cut off when she departed for the kitchen. Franklin held up the pack, trying not to grimace impolitely at the pink color. Duct tape was coiled tight around one strap and made a perfect handle. Returning to his bedroom, a spiral bound notebook was placed inside, along with a red pen. 

 

"I have to run to work across town," Sarah said breathlessly, trying to tame her hair into a fuzzy ponytail, "so you'll take the bus. The neighbor's kid takes it too, actually. Maybe you'll make a friend!" 

 

Shrugging on the backpack, Franklin was ushered outside at Aunt Sarah's request and trumped to the end of the driveway. The Fiat zoomed by and Franklin was suddenly very alone. 

 

 

A wall of thick ornamental shrubs separated the two driveways: one Aunt Sarah's, the other belonging to The DuFresne's as their mailbox proclaimed. Franklin risked being rude to peer around the shrub and noted the cookie cutter housing as an exact mirror of Aunt Sarah's own. No other kid in sight, though. Resigned, Franklin instead focused on the pale asphalt of the road. He imagined the day he had ahead of him. Home schooling didn't seem as complex as public school. The thought of changing rooms for subjects was foreign to him. And it was bound to be a big place with plenty of new people. Franklin didn't know the first thing about school.

 

Just as he began to panic, a door closed soundly.

 

 

A lanky boy in over large frames joined a quietly shaking Franklin at the end of the twin driveways, looking refreshed. A croissant was pulled apart in his hands and gently slipped into his mouth idly as he looked up the street one way, then comically noticing Franklin as he glanced the other. His lips drew up in a lop-edged smile that had Franklin wanting nothing more than to be invisible.

 

"Hey," the stranger started warmly, "I'm Frank. You waiting for the bus, too?"

 

Franklin nodded, muttering his own name. The boy, Frank, laughed and Franklin was unsure if it was directed at him. Arms crossed defensively none the less. 

 

"Jeez, the teachers aren't gonna like this," Frank said, fingers tearing at his croissant and offering a piece to Franklin, "Just call me Doc, okay? Frank and Franklin; that's way too close together." After Franklin's fingers closed around the offered pastry, Frank -- Doc -- motioned to his vibrantly purple shirt and the caricature of Doc from Snow White upon it.

 

Franklin chewed lightly and tried not to bring attention to his own appearance. "Why Doc?"

 

"My parents are doctors," Doc replied with a humored smile. "Pediatrics and dentistry."

 

 

The two ate in relative silence, passing the remainder of the pastry back and forth. Doc didn't ask about Franklin's bandages or his overalls and only occasionally prompted conversation in short bursts like where he came from, what classes he'd be starting, and the blondness of Franklin's hair. The bus arrived shortly after Doc was through petting the soft mop on Franklin's head, the two of them laughing childishly. Doc immediately led Franklin on board and unintentionally provided cover for the new student to bypass the driver's inquisitive stare.

 

A boy near the middle of the bus waved enthusiastically at Doc, patting the three-wide seat invitingly. Doc headed there immediately with Franklin right behind him. The boy, smiling through orthodontic headgear and dressed all in shades of mismatched blue, made room for the two of them and quickly introduced himself in a high voice that was way too eager to miss.

 

"Hi, I'm Mikey!" 

 

A hand reached over Doc and presented itself to Franklin. Shaking his head, Doc was almost laughing all over again. The two of them shook hands and Franklin pulled away quickly, grimacing and examining his hand that was now spotted in a thin tacky blue substance. 

 

"Yes," Doc supplied, reaching into his backpack and providing both Franklin and Mikey with wet wipes, "This is Mikey. Don't shake his hand because he's always inhaling DumDums. Even when he shouldn't be. My dad works hard on his teeth and I can't understand why."

 

Mikey groaned in disgust as he used to wipe sparingly. "Doc, are these baby wipes? They smell gross, dude, I hate babies." 


	3. A Farewell to Lonesomeness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don't want to be your friend, baby. I am your friend.” 
> 
> ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

Doc led the way to most of Franklin's classes, but not before hitting up the largest parts of the building. At the office, they picked up scheduled and used the small window of time to visit the gymnasium, the cafeteria, and the large art room. Doc didn't take art, as he explained. Most of his elective classes were spent as a Teacher's Assistant, which was fancy talk for delivering papers and being trusted in empty classrooms for no more than 5 minutes at a time. 

 

As Doc escorted Franklin to his first class of the new year, the overhead speakers crackled to life and a young voice called out announcements to the student body. The lunch menu was interrupted by Doc, pointing to one of the nearby speakers. 

 

"That's Dee," he said, a bit louder than the voice, "he's a Teacher's Assistant, too. You'll hear him every morning --"

 

Doc was cut off by the sounds of squabbling over the intercom. Dee's voice mixed with another, papers rustled, and the microphone was bumped by errant hands elbows. 

 

"And _that_ is Dex," Doc snickered.

 

Franklin listened in confusion as Dee shrieked Dex's name. Doc made a motion to stop Franklin, eyes on the source of sound. The speakers squealed, a loud thumping echoing hard against eardrums before a loud voice with a lazy drawl began to make a few...unofficial announcements. 

 

 

"Listen up, nerds --"

     "Dex!"

"This is Dexter from Algebra Homeroom and welcome to morning announcements!"

     "Dammit, Dex!"

"There's gonna be a battle -- ugh, Dee, stop! -- battle of the best this a-afternoon --"

     "Dex, oh my God, stop it! Give me my --"

"Connie is a returning champion against --"

 

The microphone gave feedback briefly, Dee claiming he was going to find a teacher. Dex began to read a bit faster.

 

"Connie is a returning champion against Alli in the courtyard this afternoon before last bell; be there or be square, nerds!"

 

 

Doc's arm shot out the moment a nearby door burst open, pushing Franklin back against the hallway wall. A short young girl rushed by, leaving her classroom behind as she made a beeline for the office. Franklin took notice of her flowing dress over leggings and the grace to how she moved even if it was out of anger. Doc nodded to her as she passed. 

 

"Connie," he greeted casually.

 

"Frank," she returned tensely, making Doc smile lightly.

 

 

"Uhh...there's gonna be _pizza_ for lunch! That oughta be good. Your choice, pepperoni or sausage. Usual sides with that; you know how this works. Mainak Demet, you're needed at the office. Your mom probably came to deliver your _butt cream_. Jerk. Uhh, what else we got here?" Papers flipped, Dex mumbling over the authorized script. "Let's see... _cheerleading_ try outs, this week only. Be sure to yell and stuff. Wave those... _pom_ things? I don't know." More rustling, an errant sniffle. "Jeez, Dee's been gone a bit, huh? How long does it take to find a teacher in this place?" Another sniffle and Dex was announcing again. 

 

"David Washington was in the Blood Gulch Dawn this summer for work on...wait, on _volunteer_ work, really? Congrats on that, I guess. Way to spend your summer, dude, waist deep in responsibility. Hope the column in the paper was worth it. And, uh, --" The sound of a door opening stopped Dex in the middle of his sentence. He braved on, though, and rushed the last of his announcements. "And the rest of this doesn't matter! Take it away, Jack!"

 

 

The intercom cut off promptly, and Doc was left laughing to himself. The event was over and the two continued on their way to Homeroom without interruption. "It's not always like that," Doc explained, "Well, not every day. Dex always gets detention for stuff like that. Principle Pattillo tries his best to keep him in line, but Dex knows his way around."

 

Franklin nodded and pretended to understand. 

 

* * *

 

 

Homeroom was hosted by a nice lady named Mrs. Ward who taught English. They made rounds with icebreaker activities and Franklin was already so overwhelmed by the presence of so many peers that he hardly kept up. Some were easy to remember, like Doc and Mikey. Others breezed by as if bored and hardly made the effort Mrs. Ward was looking for. Eventually, it was Franklin's turn. 

 

Mike physically gave Franklin a push and he was rising to his feet numbly. Doc returned to his seat, looking on expectantly as Franklin made his way up to the front of the class. Everyone was staring and suddenly he was nervous. He didn't look like he belonged at all, he realized. The multitude of t-shirts and jeans stood out and Franklin thumbed at the pocket of his overalls, toes curling in his work boots. Doc was there, at the front of the class. If Doc could do it...

 

"H-hey, I'm, uh....I'm Franklin. Delano. Uh, Donut? My last name's Donut. It's pretty weird, yeah, and I moved here a few days ago. I'm from Moscow, Iowa, but I was born in La Mars. I, uh...I lived on a farm and this is my first time in public school, so....yeah."

 

"And your favorite subject?" Mrs. Ward prompted, startling Franklin from his strained concentration. 

 

"Um...I used to do Home Economics, so I guess that?" he continued. A beat of silence passed and Franklin was just about to sit down when a hand shot into the air.

 

 

"Yes, Allison?" Mrs. Ward asked casually, turning her attentions on a tall girl in the back row with a messy blonde ponytail. Franklin made note of the name, assuming her to be the 'challenger Alli' from announcements. 

 

"Yeah, I wanted to ask what happened to your hand?" she said bluntly, most of the class lighting up in the slightest of interest. Better than the boredom and silence, Franklin thought to himself, lifting his left hand so the others could see.

 

"I was trying to fix a tractor with my Dad," he claimed, motioning to the gauze and tape. "I put my hand in the wrong place when he started it up and, uh...no more pinkie." He shrugged nonchalantly, trying to pass off the missing finger like a scratch and headed back to his desk before anyone could press further. Mikey greeted him with a metallic smile. As Franklin sunk into his seat, he sighed heavily in relief. So far, so good....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mainak Demet  
>  \- Meaning "Mountain" "Bouquet of Flowers"
> 
>  
> 
> ...Or, y'know, Maine The Met(a)


End file.
